Sycamore

File #115176
...file in progress, all information subject to change



Clan Position: Clan Leader
Clan Relations: Mate: Rivercross Close Friends to the elder mirrors and Halcyon.

Abilities: Born Abilities: Sycamore is a powerful shadow element user, easily able to manipulate the shadows around him. He is also able to become the shadows and make his body grow (becoming more translucent as he does) and shrink (becoming more solid the smaller he becomes). Plaguebringer attempted to give him camouflaging abilities, but instead accidentally changed him into a nocturne. To this day she swears it was Shadowbinder's interference. Because he has been a mirror, wildclaw, and now a nocturne he still carries some of these traits: From a mirror: He has a firm survivalist mentality and is swift even on his nocturne's legs (they are somewhat longer and stronger than typical). From a wildclaw: Sycamore can sometimes be a little vain, and can become influenced by those who show more wealth. He also has a very strong soloist personality, and does not use nocturne mimicry and certainly doesn't lose himself whilst taking on the traits around him.

Family Background:

Personality: Sycamore has a perchance for rambling about histories of people, and tends to take everything either in a very lazy manner or a very amused one. Until he gets serious, then he starts delegating and barking orders, and since the most powerful dragons of the clan scramble, so does everyone else.

He's quite aware of his past and honored by it: Born as a mirror, changed to wildclaw, and given genes. All by the deities of the lands.

Mutation Success Rating: Poor, but as a naturally strong magical wielder and some interesting physical and mental adaptations resulting from his double breed change, he is still quite notable. However, he remains the solid leader of the clan.


Secured Information:


Original Story Blurb:
"Shh, there he is! He's ancient!"
"I heard he knew Icewarden."
"I heard he knew Icewarden AND Shadowbinder."
"I thought he was Shadowbinder!"

At that last comment, a deep chuckle rumbled out from the small nocturne, and reverberated through the square room he claimed for himself. The sound made two of the three hatchlings scatter in an instant, a fact he heard before he opened his eyes. The little tundra hatchling, born already twice the size of Sycamore's full form, shivered from head to tail. Sycamore didn't know if it was fear or anticipation that made the hatchling shiver, and that perked his interest. He didn't usually not know. With great age came great experience, and experience had a way of lending itself to wisdom. Hatchlings were the least of all that he expected to catch him off guard.

But experience had taught him that also that one could always find something new. New was not always worth exploring. But in a hatchling, it was.

"You are Marvel and Feanor's third egg." Sycamore commented. He hadn't met the hatchlings, but he'd heard about them. He smiled without smiling when the hatchling's eyes widened for an answer. "Of course I know who you are." THAT made the hatchling's mouth drop open. "No, I do not know everything. Nor can I read minds." He paused, and tilted his head. "Not so."

His deep laughter rumbled in the room again. Was it possible for the dragon's eyes or mouth to get any bigger? Tundras and hatchlings were the best, because they were always predictable. Almost. Sycamore tilted his head the other way. Did this one fear or anticipate? Either way, he had a captive audience.

"I was born a mirror in the Tangled Woods. My first friend of an unknown land was as mischievous a dragon as you could ask for. Together, we were infamous, and tricked a truly ancient dragon. As a reward, the Shadowbinder granted us the form of a Wildclaw. Most of my life was spent in this form, and it was a good form to have. We traveled the Fire Lands, and there I thrived and endured. The Flamecaller took note, and gave me the gleam to my body before my new challenge in the Gladekeeper's land. The challenge successfully completed, I won the shine to my wings. Over half my life now, I was sent to serve in the Icewarden's cold lands. My old Wildclaw body endured the cold for many great years, but began to break down in the coldest of winters. I have never met Icewarden, but I hear it is his own blessing that brought the Shadowbinder to my side once again. She has granted me her very own form."

The small nocturne stood and stretched as he spoke, then continued to stretch further and further outwards. As he did so, his form became less solid, but he continued to stretch until his tiny frame stretched all along the walls, and curved into the ceiling and floor, as flat and translucent as a shadow. The baby tundra---now so tiny to his eyes---trembled.

But still Sycamore didn't know for what reason he trembled. "What wish would you ask of the Icewarden?"

"I want to be just like you!" Came the thrilled chirrup.

Sycamore shortened until he matched sizes with the babe. He knew Feanor and Marvel hesitated with their names. He looked him up and down. He thought of all he'd seen in his life, and the great arguments he'd had. There was much glorious about his life. But there was no glory without sacrifice and pain. He thought of all he'd been, all he'd learned, all the ways he'd changed.

"Then, Little Shadow, you must learn first who we both are."